38. Hotaru
“My entire life, Arlo—just like Nate said—has been pulling my strings. He’s made me love him and made me leave him. He’s made me happier than I thought possible and sadder than my parents’ absence. I’ve let him tug and knot my strings and thanked him for every one of my frayed ends because I love him no matter what.”
“I know you do.” Hailey kneels at my feet. She’s covered in a corseted black dress that may not leave her body this evening.
“Tonight I have to cut those strings.”
She nods. There’s no sadness in her eyes, only understanding. I cup her cheek in my hand, knowing she’s the only reason I’ll be able to get through this.
“It will be unbearable to witness.”
Again, she nods.
“You can’t intervene.”
“I know.” She swallows and turns her face. Her lips graze my palm. “I’m ready.”
“I don’t think any of us are ready for this.” Lord knows my stomach has been twisted since the revelation crashed into my conscience hours ago. “But it’s time.”
I help her to her feet and point at the chair I set up for her in the corner of the room.
She tugs the collar of my shirt low and presses her forehead to mine. We breathe one final cleansing breath together, and then she releases me. “I trust you. I love you. I believe in you. Arlo does too. No matter what.”
All I can do is nod and watch her walk to the chair and sit like a queen on a throne.
I want to crawl to her and bury my face in her pussy. I want to hear her moans and taste her wetness on my tongue.
The only way to the other side, to our future together, is through.
“Fuck.” I make one final sweep of my setup, roll my shoulders, and head to the door.
Of course, Arlo stands proud on the other side. He’s in a navy button-down with navy slacks that have a neatly woven pinstripe. The color brings out the hint of deep blue in his dark eyes.
The concierge has made herself scarce. He’s in the room alone. I’ve booked the rooms on either side of the one we’ll use, just in case the soundproof insulation fails us.
I crook my finger.
Arlo sets down the glass that had a finger of bourbon inside when Hailey left him to join me. He walks with sure strides and stops with the tips of his Ferragamo’s nearly touching mine.
Without a word, I unbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and then lean forward. My lips meet the heat of his skin just under his throat and above his heart. I keep them there for too long before I stand.
“I love you.” Arlo’s breath dances across my jaw.
“I hope it’s true after.” I swallow.
“It will be.” Arlo gives one concise dip of his head.
“I love you, Arlo. I also have to break you apart to give you what you need. I will tear you to shreds. I’ll rip the past from your present so we can put your pieces back together.”
Arlo’s chin lifts. His gaze narrows. “I’m ready.”
He most certainly isn’t. Still, I appreciate the bravado. I guide him inside, close the door behind him, and flip the lock. The metal bolt thuds home. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch.
His head swivels to Hailey. They exchange a look that says so much without a word.
Arlo’s head lowers to take in the room.
His shoulders jerk forward. He rocks back on his heels as though he’s been shot.
There’s the flinch.
On the floor at his feet lay two manacles. Each one is attached to one meter of heavy chain. Those chains are fastened to the concrete by U bolts.
The memory of stealing the chains and manacles from the room his uncle once locked him in is enough to prick every millimeter of my skin and tug at the lunch I ate hours ago.
And I was never restrained by them.
I step to Arlo’s back but don’t touch him. “Once we start, no matter what you say or do, there is no stopping what comes next. Unless you say the word.”
Churchill.
The place where he was least safe in his whole life. The safe word I’ve made sure he’s never had to use.
He might tonight.
Tiny beads of sweat cling to his neck, while his pulse kicks wildly in his throat. A quiver makes the pointed collar of his shirt dance a discordant rhythm.
A part of me wants to pull the plug. To fall to his feet and let him have his way with me. To call Hailey to heel and have her soothe our misery in the softness of her skin.
“Do you consent to these parameters?” I whisper.
It’s as if he’s gone somewhere else already. His eyes stare far off at nothing and everything terrorizing his mind.
When we were younger, I was naive enough to think killing his uncle would make things better and that what it didn’t cure, my presence would handle the rest.
Dumb kid.
“Do you consent?” I bark.
His arms fly up as though he’s going to cover his ears. He stops them only a breath away and drops them to his sides. It’s as though they weigh a thousand pounds and pull his shoulders into a slump.
“I consent.” His voice is flimsy even for him.
“I can’t hear you.” I’m surprised the snarl works itself out of my constricted passageway.
“I consent!” Arlo bellows.
Hailey’s chest rises abruptly at his scream, but she releases it slowly, calmly.
It will be the last calm thing until we’re through this.
I reach around Arlo, grip both sides of his shirt, and rip them apart. Buttons ping off the concrete, skitter, and roll about the room. The fabric stretches across his shoulders. I yank it down his arms and toss it aside.
On any other night, I’d tell him to get on his knees. I’d make sure the surface under them was soft.
This is not any other night.
My knees shoot out, catching the backs of his. His knees give out. For a moment, he scrambles to right himself. I grab his nape and drive him to the floor. The thinly covered bones smack against the unforgiving floor.
Arlo grunts, but holds his chin high through the discomfort. The edges of his hairline are dark with sweat. His head turns to look at me.
“Eyes ahead.” I snap my fingers next to his face. He slowly turns away, facing front.
“You are not allowed to look at me. That’s a privilege. You have to earn it.” I pace behind him. “Until I decide you have, you’ll only see what I let you see.”
Hailey is purposely just out of his line of sight.
“You will taste what I want you to taste. Hear what I want you to hear. You will feel what I want you to feel. Nothing else. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” He nods.
Mid stride, I pause, and I shove hard between his shoulder blades. Momentum carries him to the ground. He catches himself on his hands in a low push-up position as I expected he would.
“Face down. Arms out in front of you.” I walk up his sides and crouch over his back.
His scarred back expands on a deep inhale. The tortured skin pulls taut. My lips tingle with the need to soothe each poorly healed wound. But I’m after the ones the eyes can’t see.
One at a time and slower than I would ever usually accept, Arlo extends his arms. Every etched muscle and carved vein pulses with tension.
“Good.” I sit on his back, keeping most of my weight on my shins that are tucked close to his sides. “Don’t move.”
Arlo hisses, but otherwise says nothing. The rattle of his body under mine tells me enough.
Leaning forward, I grab one manacle and drag it across the floor. The metal scrapes across the concrete, composing an unnerving symphony. Muscles in Arlo’s shoulders and back bulge. His long fingers shake.
I grip his wrist, wrap the manacle around it, and seal the clasp tight, turning the screw until there is no chance of escape.
A sniffle filters up from the floor. I force myself to ignore it and continue, binding his right wrist just the same as the left. His middle quivers under me.
“It won’t seem like it, but that was the hardest part. The crest of the mountain. From here, gravity takes control, and you realize you have none.” I press my lips to the back of his head and then stand.
“On your knees.” My order reverberates around the room, while I move to the tools I’ve laid out. I grab the first and turn to find Arlo scrambling up to his knees.
His impressive physique is stretched between the bonds.
“Look at you.” I circle him. “Every Dom’s wet dream. So strong. So beautifully submissive.”
He tracks me out of the corner of his eye. When I stand in front of him, his gaze lights on the flogger in my hand. His nostrils flare and the striations in his jaw constrict. Tears soak a line down his cheeks and drip onto his chest.
“I have been yours for what seems my whole damn life. From the moment you scuttled into the office of Willoughby Ridge, I was yours. Whatever you’ve needed me to be, I have been. Your protector. Your lover. Your friend.” I tug the sleeves of my sweater, snugging them to my forearms.
“Tonight you become mine.” My footsteps carry me so close, he strains his neck to look up at me. I drag the tip of the flogger over his chest and around his clavicle. “You have many scars. If anyone leaves a mark on your body, it should be me. After all, your body and your mind belong to me.”
I take one step back and point the flogger to the longest scar across his chest. “Look at this.”
His head falls, and his gaze meets the scar.
“Remember how you got it?”
His eyes widen for a beat, and then his gaze blanks, going to the nightmare place. His brow furrows as his mind meets the memory. His jaw clenches.
My forearm flexes. My wrist pivots. With precision and force, I shatter that vision with the present. Leather meets skin and the crack of contact permeates every part of his brain.
“Count,” I demand.
“One.” He gasps.
“One, Hota.” I press the end of the flogger over the freshly reddened skin, making him flinch. “Because now, this is mine.”
“One, Hota.” Arlo’s voice is as crisp as it’s ever been. His chest presses out, closer to my crop, recognizing my ownership.
“Good.” I nod. “Keep count. I want to know exactly how thoroughly I’ve claimed you when we’re done.”
His perfectly haunted face breaks into a grin. “Yes, Sir.”
I love his smile. It won’t last long.
There are so many fucking scars.
I point to the next, let him see it, let him begin to remember, and then claim it.
A grunt weaves its way through his teeth. “Two, Hota.”
His chest is a patchwork of trauma. His back is no better. We have to get through it all to get to the core of the matter.
“And this one.” Again I point, let him look, and then break the memory apart before it fully forms.
“Three, Hota.” He huffs.
And so it goes until I land a particularly brutal smack on a rippled mark across his belly.
“Motherfucker.” Arlo’s entire body cants to the side, trying to escape the pain. “Goddamn you.” He rails against the chains. The metal clings and clangs, creating a god-awful racket that punctuates his screams. He’s no longer looking at me but over his left shoulder. As though the specter of his uncle looms tall.
“Piece of shit. Fuck you to hell,” he bellows.
Only four more to go on his belly and I will move to his back. I’m losing him.
I hit the same spot again. “Count!”
The scream of a madman rattles up his chest, rips through his throat, and spews into the room.
Hailey jerks in her seat, while my heart lurches, bumping into my ribs.
“You told me I was worthless. That nobody loved me. That the world would be better if I didn’t exist.” Arlo’s neck strains with every word.
I’m losing him.
Maybe I have to in order to get him back.
“Eighteen, Hotaru.” Hailey’s soft voice filters over me.
When I finally pull my gaze away from Arlo, she nods for me to continue. So, I do.
“Nineteen, Hotaru.” She counts for him.
Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
Arlo sobs at the last blow. His head falls forward. His shoulders hunch. Sorrow saws in and out, rattling his lungs and shaking his entire body.
I don’t have the will to move on to his back.
My hand is tired, and my fucking heart is shattered in pieces at my feet.
When I look at Hailey for reassurance, her face is slick with tears. Her lower lip trembles. Her hands are fists in her lap, and her eyes are on the broken man between us.
One by one, my fingers loosen on the crop handle. My only recourse is to crawl to him and join in his sorrow. Hailey will come too. I know she wants to comfort him in any way she can.
Just before I release the flogger, Arlo jerks the chains. His entire body turns toward the ghost at his back. As much as the restraints allow.
“You were wrong,” Arlo spits. “You were wrong. The world is better without you in it. And I am loved. My parents loved me. My brother loved me.” He heaves a breath. “Even battered and broken, Hota and Hailey love me.” His sobs turn into a laugh. “You are a liar and an abuser. You’re dead, and you can’t hurt me anymore.”
Arlo turns to face me.
His face is soaked in tears and sweat, but his eyes are clear. “Finish this.”
I want to throw the flogger down and bow at his knees. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. It’s not what he needs right now.
“Hailey?” I bark her name.
“Yes?” She nods.
“Kneel in front of him.” I point at a spot a yard away, where they can see each other but not touch.
“Yes, Sir.” She wipes at her tears with the back of her hands and rushes to comply.
“Good girl.” I kneel next to her, grab her face, and lick away the tears she missed. I yank her lips to mine and kiss her deeply. Within seconds, her tongue chases mine. I turn us so Arlo can see, and we can see him. I lick deep inside her mouth and let the spit connect our mouths as I pull away, sealing my gaze to Arlo’s. “Count ten more for me and you can have a taste.”
“Yes, Sir.”